As It comes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

O, woven in one wide Loom thro' the throbbing weft of the whole,

One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,

The leaf on the winds of autumn, the bird in its hour to die,

The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,

One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon,

One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon,

One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,

We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

IN THE HEART OF THE WOODS

I

The Heart of the woods, I hear it, beating, beating afar,

In the glamour and gloom of the night, in the light of the rosy star,

In the cold sweet voice of the bird, in the throb of the flower-soft sea!...

For the Heart of the woods is the Heart of the world and the Heart of Eternity,

Ay, and the burning passionate Heart of the heart in you and me.

Love of my heart, love of the world, linking the golden moon

With the flowery moths that flutter thro' the scented leaves of June,

[Pg 3]

And the mind of man with beauty, and youth with the dreaming night

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